


Native

by thecanariescry



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7150793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecanariescry/pseuds/thecanariescry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity supposed that it was simple. The moment that he claimed her, she became his. And in their world of guns, and gangs, and violence, nobody touched what was Oliver Queen's, because there was only one punishment for a mistake like that - death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Native

His mother was screaming.

Oliver heard the screeching, animalistic sound that only a mother could make as she tugged at the makeshift bindings that his father’s arms created around her. He heard her shrieks of despair like it was a dull noise from somewhere a million miles away though she was right next to him.

Her grief burned louder than the fire of the car, and Oliver was sure that Moira Queen, if given the chance, would run into that burning car without hesitation, not to save someone that could no longer be saved, but to let the flames take her away. 

A hand fell on his shoulder and because Oliver knew the solidarity of his best friend’s touch, because he knew the message in his brother’s meager embrace, he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t push his hand off.

He just watched the flames dance in front of him.

There were people shouting, the sounds of sirens - somewhere he could hear the sound of Detective Lance’s voice shouting directions - from police, medics, and the fire brigade alike penetrated the air, but Oliver felt like he was on his own island, away from everyone and everything. Totally disconnected.

The only real tether he had to the present was Tommy’s hand on his shoulder, his grip so tight that if Oliver was in a place where he could register pain, it would be painful, reminding him that Tommy knew his loss, that he felt the same pain, except he didn’t.

No one would ever know his secret, or the extent of his pain, no one would ever know what he had done here.

“Ollie, your parents need you.” Tommy said as he dropped the hand that wasn’t on his shoulder on Oliver’s chest, “Ollie, look at them.”

He was looking at them.

They were both on their knees. His mom was bent over completely, her head resting on the gravel of the road, as if, if she could just curl up and die, she would, but even that wouldn’t be enough. His dad was on his knees next to her, his hands on her back as he stared at the identically covered bodies that had been placed on stretchers next to them.

His face was hard, promising of swift and painful retribution, but his eyes were soft with tears and absolute shattered grief as he looked at the single hand that hung off the side of the stretcher, burned nearly to a crisp, but the blood red painted nails were still visible.

Oliver had never seen Robert Queen cry, he wasn’t a man that softened, that felt more beyond the scope of what he was morally obligated to feel - and his morals had always been based on loyalty -, he wasn’t the kind of man that bent, there was only one person that he had ever bent for, and only for that person did he shed tears for.

“They don’t need me.” Oliver responded as he pulled away from Tommy as a flicker of emotion seeped past the numbness, anger, a barely consumed rage, a rage that would have him hauling his dad off the ground by his shirt and tossing him into the fire of the car to burn if he didn’t contain it, if he didn’t let his own fire burn him from the inside. He had to get away. “They’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” Tommy asked his tone incredulous as he followed him, his own anger evident as he grabbed Oliver by the back of his shirt and yanked him around to face him. Oliver could’ve stopped him, but he didn’t, he just let Tommy do what he needed to do. “They are never going to be fine again! None of us are going to be fine.”

“Some of us have to be.” He pushed him away from him, “Some of us have to be fine, Tommy. Someone has to make sure that there aren’t any more bodies.”

“To make sure there aren’t any more bodies?” Tommy repeated as Oliver stared at him, his own face dry even as Tommy’s was streaked with tears, “Is that all she was to you? Just another body? Didn’t you love her at all?”

“More than I had any right to.” Oliver responded after a long moment. “Go be with them Tommy, be with our families. I have things to take care of.”

“She’d never forgive you, Ollie. If she was here, she’d never forgive you.”

“Then we’re even because I’m never going to forgive her.”

“For dying?” He asked in a soft tone, “Do you even hear yourself? She loved you, more than anyone or anything, she thought you walked on water, and you’re just going to leave when she needs you the most?”

“She’s dead.” Oliver said harshly the words that only the medic that had looked her over after the fire rescue squad had pulled her body out of the car had said, “She’s dead, and she is never coming back. She needed us three hours ago and neither one of us were there. She’s dead, and she’ll never need anything again.”

He didn’t say anything else, it was never his intention to hurt Tommy, but his view of the world, despite everything, despite their lives, remained hopelessly idealistic, he was after all the idiot that had made the mistake of falling in love with a woman outside of Elite, he believed in so many things, and despite their lives, there were so many ways in which he was innocent, and Oliver didn’t want to take that away from him, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with trying to preserve it, not today, perhaps never again.

He’d lost far more than Tommy had tonight.

He walked away again, and this time Tommy let him. 

It seemed ironic, or horrible and awful, to get into a car after what he’d just witnessed, but he moved in the direction of his car anyway, the keys digging into his palm, not hard enough to break the skin, not hard enough for Oliver to truly register any kind of feeling outside of resolute determination, but hard enough to remind him of why he had done what he’d done, to remind himself of what still needed to be done.

“Walk away.” The order was sharp and resolute but Oliver had no more time for distractions, no more time for people that had loved her, and there were so many of them, he had no more time for empathy, to give it or receive it, he had to do what needed to be done or everything that he’d already done would be in vain.

He didn’t have time for John Diggle.

“I’ll take you, wherever you need to go.”

“I don’t need a driver. Or a bodyguard, or protection.” He let the rest of that sentence go unsaid because she had needed both, probably all three, her parking always had been atrocious, and he hadn’t been there.

But Oliver couldn’t find it in him to fault Diggle for that.

“You think I don’t know where you’re going? You think I don’t know that someone is going to die for this?”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Then explain it to me. Or don’t. I don’t care, Mr. Queen, just let me help. I have to help.”

“I don’t make it my business to absolve anyone’s guilt. If you need resolution, go find a church.”

“I need someone to pay.” Diggle’s voice was dark, “You didn’t hire me because I was loyal to your family, you didn’t hire me because I was loyal to Elite like Andy, you hired me because I wasn’t, because I was only loyal to her. I won’t pretend to know your loss, but don’t pretend like you don’t know mine. Let me help you.”

The answer was no. This was the road that he walked alone, this was his own burden to bear, and yet looking at Diggle, at the man that had proved time and time again that he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, and then when the moment finally came that he couldn’t, was ready to do anything to avenge her, Oliver couldn’t find it in him to say no.

“Only one person dies tonight.” Oliver told him waiting for the flicker of disapproval that always took over Diggle’s features whenever he overheard anything that went against his clean cut version of right and wrong, but it never came. “And you won’t understand what he has to do with her. You won’t understand what any of it has to do with her. I may never tell you. This is not a fight that you want, Diggle, this is not a waiting game that you want. You may never find the peace that you want in this crusade with me.”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s a crusade for justice for her.”

“And you’re just going to take my word for it? That everything I do from this moment is in her name? That everything I do from this moment is for her?”

“I don’t need to. I’ve seen it. If you don’t think I don’t know after five years that everything you’ve ever done has been to protect her than you obviously don’t give me enough credit at all.”

“She loved you.” Oliver felt obligated to say. “And if she had survived this, she would have trusted you, with her life, the same way she always has.”

Diggle was silent for a long moment, before he nodded once. “Where to, Mr. Queen?”

Oliver tossed him the keys and read off an address.

The drive was silent, there was nothing to say, they had never interacted beyond her, but Oliver found a strange sort of camaraderie in the silence, he was still alone, and yet he wasn’t, and Oliver had learned that sometimes in the world that he lived in, illusions were a kind of kindness.

“Stay in the car.” Oliver ordered as he got out of it the second Diggle had pulled onto the side of the road, the closest spot to the driveway as he could get without actually pulling in. “This isn’t going to take long.”

He had no intention of leaving without what he wanted, and what he wanted was something that no one else did, at least no one else who was still alive to oppose him.

“Oliver.” Donna Smoak opened the door, a mix of emotions registering across her face, before she wiped them clean off her face. “I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do-”

“Take care of Verdant.” Oliver cut her off, “You can do that for me, but I’m not here because I need something from you. Where’s Noah, Donna?”

Noah was what Oliver regarded as a necessary evil in his line of work. He was Elite by blood, but very distant blood, he held absolutely no influence outside of his own family, and was constantly walking out on both his wife and daughter for ridiculous stints in prison. If his computer science skills weren’t unparalleled, Oliver would’ve happily given Donna Smoak the loaded gun she needed to kill her husband and make it look like an accident.

“Right here.” Noah came down the stairs, managing to look twice his age in the blue and white striped pajamas, “What can I do for you, Mr. Queen?”

“I want her.”

“Excuse me?”

“Felicity.” Oliver dragged out each syllable of her name before repeating, “I want her.”

The foundations of Elite were simple, it was made up of Star City’s most powerful one percent, headed by the Queens, and followed by the Merlyn’s and Mayson’s. They ran the city, through fear, intimidation, and corruption. Through, guns, gangs, and violence, all hidden under the facade of a business suit. 

And the rules of Elite were simpler, an Elite man always chose an Elite woman to marry, and while Oliver had been expected to choose when he had turned twenty-two, no one was surprised when he didn’t.

He'd never had any intention of getting married, his perception of love was skewed as it was, and he wasn't interested in all but forcing a woman to marry him, but none of what he wanted mattered anymore. It hadn't mattered for a while now. 

“Once she turns twenty-two. That's the day you tell her.” Oliver didn't ask, it wasn't a question, he was a Queen, this was Oliver’s city, and Noah would obey. 

“She's already promised to someone else.”

“Nathaniel Reyes isn't going to be a problem.”

He would be the only person that died tonight. 

“If she finds out before I want her to, Noah, I will hold you personally responsible.” Oliver said with an air of finality as he took a step back and left him standing there. 

Noah Kuttler was a formality at best and Oliver was determined not to spend a second longer around him than necessary. 

A warm hand grasped at his fingers and pure instinct kept him from slamming Donna to the wall with his hand around her throat.

She didn't say anything, she just looked at him. She had been Felicity’s mother and father, and if their world worked differently, she would've been able to voice her opinion, but she couldn't and she didn't. 

But he saw the question on her face, knew what she wanted to know, and he only nodded. 

He’d take care of Felicity. 

If there was one thing Oliver was going to do, it was take care of the tiny woman that was racing up her front walkway in a skimpy black dress and heels dangling off her forefinger. 

She stopped at the sight of him, her ponytail messy and falling apart, and her features in an expression best suited to be described as denial. She looked at him for a long moment before she dropped her heels on the ground and closed the distance between in three strides. 

Oliver held his hands up in a movement of surrender before he stiffly placed one around her waist and the other on the small of her back. 

Small hands fisted his shirt and Oliver held her just a little bit tighter for a second before he let go of her and took a step back. 

“It's true, isn't it?” Felicity asked softly, her voice shaking, her eyes glossed over. 

She didn't want to know. She wanted to live in a second more full of bliss, but she already knew the truth. Oliver could see it written all over her face. It didn't surprise him that she knew, it didn't surprise him that she was distraught. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. 

“Oh god.” She gasped shaking her head pressing her hands to her hips as she dropped her head. 

“Thea’s dead.” Oliver said, “My sister’s dead.”


End file.
